Lucid Dreams
by unic0rnism
Summary: Attempting to write 100 drabbles in 100 weeks or less. Since I'm not doing this for any contest or anything, I'm just going to center each drabble around the prompt and nevermind the word limit. /will try to keep all drabbles under 700 words c:/
1. New

**Drabble #1; Prompt: New**

Ginny Weasley had never had anything new. Everything she owned had been handed down by her six brothers: robes, trunk, wand, even her rickety old Cleansweep had previously been Charlie's.

It had been a perfectly normal Thursday before Dumbledore stood up, tapped his spoon against a crystal goblet, and called for everyone's attention. There was a suspicious sparkle in his eyes, and he looked exactly like Fred used to look right before he put a spider in Ron's bed. Colin poked her in the ribs and muttered, "Looks like Dumbledore's up to something."

He certainly had been 'up to something'. To the surprise of all the students, he announced that Hogwarts was holding their first annual 'Valentine's Day Ball', and all students were to attend. "It should be an enjoyable addition to Muggle traditions," he said, and winked at Professor McGonagall.

Mystified, Ginny turned and saw the scowling faces of several sixth-year Slytherins. "Looks like the Slytherins aren't too happy about observing a _Muggle _holiday," she said to Hermione, who sniffed in agreement and turned her attention back to the teachers' table. "…and that means evening gowns for the ladies and tuxedo suits for the young gentlemen," Dumbledore finished and sat down without much further ado.

Once he had sat down and resumed eating, excited chatter broke out across the hall like wildfire. Hermione murmured, "What a funny thing for Dumbledore to do all of a sudden," as Lavender giggled, "Ooh, I do hope that Seamus will ask me!" Seamus, who had been standing nearby, snorted and walked away.

Later that day, Ron finally plucked up the courage and asked Hermione to the ball. Ginny, hoping that Ron wouldn't mess_ this_ ball up, secretly thought that it was high time the two got together and stopped making lovey-dovey eyes at each other from across the common room. For the rest of the week, Hermione rushed about looking for "the perfect dress", growing more and more frantic as the twenty-first loomed closer. Ginny, on the other hand, had never even owned a brand-new dress before, let alone a fancy ball gown. Her brothers certainly hadn't had any to pass down. So when Hermione declared that she was taking her shopping in Muggle London, Ginny was shocked and protested, stating that she could just go in her second-hand Muggle dress. Hermione was firm, however, and soon they were both standing in _Madame's Boutique_. As Hermione ran around pulling different ball gowns from various racks, Ginny stood in the entrance and stared the delicate marbled stone floor miserably, knowing that she would never be able to afford the triple digit price tags each beautifully cut gown deserved. But when Hermione held up a sleeveless, floor-length, emerald green silk gown, Ginny's resolution broke down and she raced into the dressing room to try it on. Slipping out of the luxurious dressing room, she bit her lip and hurried to the mirror at the front of the store. She couldn't help but twirl a little and make a dainty curtsy for her imaginary audience, until a silky voice abruptly interrupted her pleasant reveries.

"Of course, a new Slytherin-colored gown could make even a weasel look nice," Draco Malfoy drawled as he walked towards her, wearing a dark grey silk tuxedo that complemented his silvery eyes perfectly. Ginny was rendered completely speechless by the way the suit jacket showed off his broad shoulders and the fact that he had moved close enough that she could smell an appealing scent of vanilla, flowers, and pure _Malfoy_. Aware that she had been staring for far too long, she moved away and scowled, provoked by the slight smirk that had appeared on his lips as he looked straight at her. "See you at the ball," he said, as his smirk grew larger. Unable to think of any witty repartee, Ginny turned and marched back to the dressing room entrance with twin roses blooming on her cheeks.


	2. Broken

**Drabble #2, Prompt: Broken**

**A/N: **This strange drabble came to me in the middle of AP Music Theory class. (Btw, can you tell that I absolutely love Ginny in Slytherin colors?) I wasn't going to make this happy at all, but my beta_ loves_ fluff. So...)

She is standing by the fountain when he sees her, a vision of blood-red and pale legs and emerald green silk: bright, yet barely putting up a fight against the dreary, grey winter. Another slight wind picks up, tugging mournfully at the ends of her long red curls; she reaches out to grasp at the breeze as if it were something tangible, concrete, solid in a world of subdued malice and deceitful smiles.

He shifts uncomfortably and she stiffens imperceptibly in response, almost as if she has felt the muted thudding of a guilty heart half a courtyard away. Slowly, her slender hand drops and she turns methodically, hate alive and burning in bright amber eyes. He blinks once in surprise and when he has collected himself enough to direct a silvery-eyed stare of his own; her eyes are dull, flat, and lifeless again. There is no emotion in her silent gaze, merely faint distaste as she turns back to stare at the ornately carved fountain.

He is sure that the unadulterated hatred he caught in a glimpse has merely been hooded, masked by desperate determination and fiery hopelessness—

—She stretches out a pale finger to trace the image of a roaring lion carved into the center of the fountain's frieze. He stands stock still, frozen in icy shock as the feline carving stretches languorously, ignoring the blatant fact that it is not supposed to move, and begins to pace. The miniscule movements of her lion –_lioness, he observes_– brings a tiny, brilliant smile to her wan, tired face.

He scowls fiercely and turns away with an eerie, fluid grace. From the corner of his eye, he watches as she lifts her head and stares at him for a fraction of a second before returning her attention to the prowling stone lioness.

Reaching into his pocket for his watch –_doesn't this girl have other things to do besides enchant a fountain_– his fingers brush against two broken halves of a –_her_– wand. At his touch, the ends where it was cleanly snapped in half seem to awaken and a fury of gold sparks lance towards his fingertips, leaving blistering burns wherever they land. He wrenches his hand away with a loud curse and jerks his head up at the unexpected peals of crystalline laughter resounding from the petite girl half a courtyard, half a century of enmity away. The laughter dies away suddenly as his steely grey eyes lock onto hers and they stare at each other, platinum blonde and fiery redhead.

As he abruptly turns away, he realizes that the fiery hate she glares with hurts more than the burn of sparks against his fingers. Her bubbling laughter, however, is as good a balm as anything.


	3. Eyes

**Drabble #3, Prompt: Eyes**

**A/N: **It's past my bedtime but I'm really too tired to fall asleep. Also that was a really crappy ending but it was going to drag on forever so I chopped it and here you are, an update after forever.

She goes to the seedy, tucked-away-in-a-corner bar to forget.

It isn't like her to frequent this area (Molly's chiding voice rings in her head as soon as she steps into the rundown place), so far away from home. It also really isn't like her to run away from her problems or try to drown them in shot after shot of Ogden's Best Firewhiskey, but after all, there isn't any home sweet home left for her to run back to, only charred ruins and bitter memories. Technically, the fact that she was still alive was strictly due to luck and fair fortune, but she liked to think that fate was punishing her. Punishing her for never having been alone, unlike Harry, with so many brothers and loving parents and having always had the best luck and now in one stroke, they'd all been taken away.

The war's over and done, the heroes had their time in the spotlight, but now it's time to heal, to forgive and forget.

She's past trying to heal and done trying to forgive so she takes the only option left, and ends up slumped against the stained countertop, not knowing what the stains are and not wanting to know either.

In this unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar men and unfamiliar sights, she's tried her best to get away from anything and everything that could ever remind her of her lost family. But her devils have caught up with her, and she can't seem to shake them off before they're on her again.

_It was Saturday afternoon, the sky a pure deep cerulean without a hint of cloud, and Ginny Weasley was happy. Well, not happy, per se; no one had been happy since war broke out, but it was her birthday and not only that, but her sweet sixteen. _

_The entire family was there (well, those not on the run from You-Know-Who), despite the danger: Bill and Fleur from Shell Cottage, Charlie, Fred and George, and Mum had pulled out all the stops. Now, everything was almost ready for the celebration, and she had been sent off away from the house to prevent accidentally catching a glimpse of the special surprise. _

_"Gin," George had mock stage whispered, "Act really excited when you see it, because we've finally got you a-" _

_Her mother had interrupted with a sharp, "George!" and Fred had jumped in with a quickly blurted, "Hogwart's toilet seat!"_

_She was just bending over to pick a few daisies to weave into her hair, still chuckling, when the sky exploded._

_When she came to, everything was burning, and she had been thrown back against the hedges, nestling her body against the shadows and hiding her from the dark cloaks and death white masks that had appeared out of nowhere._

"_That's the last of them," a rough voice declared somewhere to her right, hidden by a sudden billow of flame. _

"_You're sure? The Dark Lord will be displeased if we miss a single weasel," an oily, strangely familiar voice replied. _

"_Yessir, I personally took out the pretty blonde, and Fenrir got the scarred one. Everyone else has been taken care of as well," _

"_Alright, if you say so. Just know that if the Dark Lord asks, you took care of this entire operation. Come, Draco, and stop dawdling," and the voices faded off into the distance._

_Ginny got up, trembling, and made it a few steps before the last black cloak suddenly turned around and stared straight at her. Teary brown eyes met uncertain grey ones, and time stopped. A trembling wand was raised by a hand in a black glove, then lowered just as unsteadily, and with a loud __**pop! **__she was on her own once more. She didn't stop to question Draco Malfoy's motives, in light of the sudden realization that her family was gone, their bodies burning to ash, and slid brokenly to her knees in front of her family's pyre._

The littlest Weasley comes back to reality with a shock, certain that she's heard George's voice call out to her. But when she glances quickly around, there's no one but the bartender sulkily wiping down glasses, a veiled shape in the back corner, and a man with startling grey eyes in the doorway.

Everything blurs and dips and Ginny doesn't know whether it's the alcohol wreaking havoc on her body or _damn, she'd really had way too many shots _but suddenly Malfoy's eyes are catching and holding her own and they're more silver than grey, really, but it doesn't take long for all the repressed hatred and horror to come welling back up, reinforced by her latest drunken daydream, and she lurches up from the bar, making her way to him with great effort. As she stands there, swaying, she looks up into his eyes once more and reads the apologies etched there and suddenly staying conscious is more than what her mind can take. She embraces the dark willingly and slumps at his feet, a sodden, pathetic mess, and he doesn't have the heart to leave her there.

He picks her up (leaves the bartender a generous tip), brings her back to her cheap motel room (he found the key among her things), and deposits her on the hard bed. Before he leaves, he takes out a photograph, the one he grabbed right before his father blew up the Burrow, and places it within her fingertips.

She wakes up, a sullen, persistent thumping in her head, muffling out coherent thoughts, and reaches out for her wand only to realize that there is a photograph in her hand. It's the entire family, happy, smiling, younger and more carefree than she's ever remembered, in front of the pyramid in Egypt and that was ages ago and in a different century when she still knew how to smile.

His eyes are ingrained in her memory, and she hates him for that and despises herself even more.


End file.
